


The Windup

by gxlden



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Eventual Smut, Masturbation, Modern AU, Multi, Restaurant talk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-02-01 22:22:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12714000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gxlden/pseuds/gxlden
Summary: The Windup. So-called because, in addition to being a sports bar, it is where everyone winds up, one way or another. Or where everyone used to, at least. The bar is slowly dying, and as Sebastian and Ciel work late into the night, serving beer and french fries to those who've been left behind by the flashy nightclubs and up-scale restaurants of the bustling college town, they find that there is little left with which to entertain themselves. Aside from each other, that is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written as a response to a writing prompt request over on Tumblr, and in light of some really nice feedback, I took the plunge and made it into a multi-chapter story. Enjoy.

"What's a pretty young thing like you doing in a place like this?"

"I work here," Ciel deadpanned. The dilute sound of glasses clinking together was lost to the scratchy sound system playing some unholy twangy country song over the muted TVs. Balancing the tray carefully on his hip, Ciel collected the empty pitchers and the bottles from the table as the gruff figure loomed behind him.

"Well when do you get off? Why don't you let me buy you a drink?"

"I don't drink," Ciel scoffed, "at least not in some cheap hole in the wall like this place." The bar wasn't even that bad, but it was his father's establishment, and Ciel enjoyed dragging him any chance he got, even if Vincent wasn't around to hear it.

"I'll take you someplace nice."

"Look, I'm not going anywhere with you. Tonight or ever. So piss off." Ciel sighed and quickly turned back to the bar before the man could say anything else. This had been happening more and more recently; older men who had probably never had a gay experience in their life outside of a college frat house in the late 80's were all of a sudden hitting on Ciel, wanting to buy him drinks or take him out back and show him a good time. Fucking losers.

Ciel sighed again and unloaded the empty bottles into the recycling and dumped the pitchers in the sink in back.

"Sebastian," Ciel poked his head out through the swinging door to the kitchen. The lean dark-haired bartender looked up from the limes he had been slicing, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear with the heel of his palm.

"What's up?"

"I'm going out for a cigarette. Will you and Bard be okay for a minute?"

"Yeah, we should be." Sebastian glanced around the bar. "We seem to be slowing down some."

"Okay, cool," Ciel said, zipping up his hoodie, "just call me if you need a hand."

"Wait." Sebastian set down his knife and turned to look at Ciel.

"What?"

"Don't you have a coat?"

"Oh, nah. I'll be fine in this," Ciel explained, scooping his lighter and pack of Camels up from the shelf under the bar where everyone laid their keys and phones and other odds and ends.

"Take my jacket, it's cold outside," Sebastian offered. "It's on the hook in the back."

Ciel hesitated for a moment. "Okay," he said, "thanks."

He nearly drowned in the long sleeves and high collar of Sebastian's fancy pea coat, but it kept him exceptionally warm as he huddled against the back of the bar and smoked his cigarette. When he tucked his face down into the collar to avoid a frigid breeze, he could smell Sebastian in it. His cologne, his shampoo, whatever it was was warm and inviting, comforting. Ciel didn't really know Sebastian all that well; he had only been working at the bar for a couple weeks and had barely exchanged any words with him outside of drink orders and good nights. He felt bad that this expensive coat was going to reek of tobacco and smoke upon its return.

Little did he know that Sebastian welcomed it, anticipated any hint of Ciel that would be left in his jacket. He had been desperate for an excuse to talk to him, to broker some interaction with the young man, but his boss had almost strictly forbade it.

"He's a Phantomhive," Grell had explained, tossing her bright red hair this way and that. "You fuck him, his dad fires both of us, and we'll be lucky to end up working the drive-thru at Burger King afterwards. You know what kind of pull he has."

So Sebastian had kept his distance, despite his desires. The boy was so cute as we wove between tables, precariously balancing full glasses and pitchers on his tray, narrowly avoiding collisions with out-pushed chairs and groping hands. He was even cuter when he snapped, demeanor cold and harsh as he bitched out a patron that had been too handsy or some privileged soccer mom complaining about sticky coasters and overzealous sports fan shouting at the TVs.

"It's a fucking sports bar," he sneered. "In a college town. What did you expect? If you can't handle rubbing elbows with average blue-collar people then get the hell out." Sebastian had to hide his smile behind his water glass as the woman stared in disbelief for several moments before shutting up and sipping her drink, abashed at being called out by such a pretty young thing.

When Ciel came back in from outside, the tip of his nose and his fingers slightly pinker than the rest of him, Sebastian decided that he would hold back no longer. Fuck Vincent Phantomhive. He had no control over his son's life, nor Sebastian's. Maybe Ciel would turn him down, refuse to have a drink with him and instead tell his father to fire him, but it was worth the risk. Sebastian would never know what could have been unless he asked.


	2. Chapter 2

It was another week and a half before Sebastian was actually able to talk to Ciel. The night the young man came in from the cold, face ruddy and fingers frozen, the three-man staff had suddenly found themselves swamped with work; a crowd of students celebrating someone's 21st birthday with a pub crawl had stumbled their way over the threshold as soon as Ciel hung up Sebastian's coat and finished washing his hands.

Bard was busy working the fryers in the back, cooking buffalo wings and loaded waffle fries and potato skins, and Sebastian was slammed with clambering kids at the bar, all pushing one another to order the most expensive or risque drinks. When he wasn't helping Bard with the dishes, Ciel was scurrying back and forth from the kitchen to the tables, clearing used dishware and delivering plates of steaming, greasy food, refilling water glasses and iced teas for the ones that needed to take a little break from drinking. One of the boys in the group ended up calling Ciel a faggot under his breath when the server accidentally gave him a plate of nachos that the person across from him had ordered, and Ciel was sorely tempted to hit him upside the head with his serving tray. It took everything in him not to; he would never hear the end of it from his father. He brushed it off, shooting the frat boy a cold glance and a snarky comment in response, but it was plain to see the derogatory comment landed Ciel in a sour mood the rest of the night. He couldn't even enjoy the large tip the rude boy's girlfriend had insisted he leave as a means of recompense for his shitty attitude. It was uncomfortably quiet as the small staff cleaned up the bar after last call, and Sebastian did not think it was the best time to strike up a conversation.

The rest was just bad timing. When Sebastian was scheduled to work, Ciel had the night off. When it was Sebastian's day off, Ciel had to work. If he had bothered to check the schedule at all, the debonair bartender would not have been so disheartened when he clocked in and found only Mey-Rin or Bard or someone else behind the counter the next few days. So he waited patiently and expectantly for Thursday to come around again, the day that his and Ciel's name both appeared on the schedule.

He found himself checking his hair and his teeth in the rearview mirror of his car before he clocked in on the prescribed date, and had to mentally chide himself for being so vain. To try and impress Ciel now was pointless. He had seen Sebastian in all manner of states before; clean-scrubbed and freshly dressed, creases sharp and hair styled, as well as disheveled, hungover, and craving the sweet release of death at three in the afternoon. It really wasn't important how he dressed. When he turned the charm on, there wasn't anybody Sebastian couldn't snag. There was only an hour overlap between their shifts, with Ciel opening and Sebastian closing, but it was all the time he needed. He guided his hand through his hair once for good measure and headed towards the bar.

"Hey, Sebastian." Bard grumbled a perfunctory greeting as Sebastian strolled through the back door, dumping an order of wings into the fryer and dropping it into the crackling oil. Sebastian greeted him with a nod and went to hang his coat up on the hook, taking one deep inhale before sliding it off his shoulders; the lingering smell of Ciel's cigarette smoke had faded quicker than he had liked.

"How'd your daughter's birthday party go?"

"Great," Bard said, suddenly breaking into a wide smile. His daughter, recently turned six, was the light of his life, and his favorite subject of conversation. It was so endearing to listen to him, and Sebastian was perfectly happy wasting the last few minutes before the start of his shift hearing about Bard's techniques for wrangling small children hopped up on birthday party jitters and cookie cake. There was no reason to rush up front; Sebastian knew Ciel would still be there when he clocked in.

Except that he wasn't.

Instead of a pair of brooding azure eyes and lithe, pale limbs, Sebastian was met with an uneven smile and a head of long, unnaturally red locks.

"Sebastian!" Grell sang a melodic, yet terribly off-key greeting. "Great, now that you're here, I can leave."

"Hold up," Sebastian held up a hand, blocking Grell from escaping from behind the bar. "What are you doing here? Isn't Ciel supposed to be working right now?"

"Yeah, supposed to be. But he's not, so I have to cover for him. But since you're here," she chirped affectionately, "I can leave now."

"Technically, that opening shift lasts another hour. And since when do you cover for people?" Sebastian asked indignantly. "If I had known that, I would've called you in last month when Bard was out of town and it felt like I had the fucking plague." Grell's nominal position as a manager had her in only a couple of times a week to collect the deposits, evaluate the stock, place orders for more alcohol and bar food, and make sure they were keeping up with their bills.

"I got a call from Vincent this morning," the redhead explained, "asking me to cover his son's shift! Can you believe that shit?"

"What?" Sebastian blanched. "Why?"

Grell waved a hand and shrugged, "I don't know." Gathering her purse from under the bar, the manager tried once again to sidle past Sebastian and head towards the exit. And once again, she found herself trapped by the bartender's tall, agile frame.

"I find that hard to believe," he said. "You're the nosiest woman I know. Come on," Sebastian coaxed, "sit for an hour, have a drink with me and let's gossip. It's been too long since you and I talked, hasn't it?" He slyly reached out and grabbed the strap of Grell's purse, sliding it seductively off her shoulder and setting it on the bar.

The excitable manager squealed, "Oh, alright. You know I can't say no to you."

It was a slow Thursday evening, and Sebastian gave Mey-Rin the nod that told her to hold down the bar while he talked with Grell. Mey-Rin, friendly as could be, nodded happily and pranced behind the counter, wiping down the polished surface with a fresh rag. Sebastian poured himself a drink, a diluted whiskey and Coke since he would have to return to work after this, and whipped up some strong fruity cocktail for Grell to sip on. They settled in at the corner end of the bar, underneath a TV that was rolling a muted reel of highlights from earlier in the week, athletes running and jumping to the silent cheers from the crowds. Technically the bar didn't allow smoking inside, but Grell lit up anyway, offering her pack to Sebastian in a polite but superficial gesture. He surprised her by taking one of the proffered American Spirits and sparking it with a lighter he pulled from his pocket.

"Since when did you start smoking again? Don't tell me it's 'cause of that Ciel kid. Boy smokes like a fucking chimney I hear..."

Sebastian scoffed, "Don't be ridiculous," and exhaled a weak trail of smoke. "Some habits are just harder to kick than others."

Grell smirked and took a drag. "Whatever you say, Sebby."

Rinsing his mouth of the first few drags with his drink, Sebastian cleared his throat and began pushing the conversation towards what he wanted to hear. He was eager to learn what had happened to Ciel. Even if it was nothing serious, he couldn't just let it go. Not after he had spent the past week nearly obsessing over him, patiently waiting for a chance to see him again. "So, tell me about earlier. Vincent called you?"

"He did!" Grell said as she practically swallowed her drink in one gulp. "At the house, too, the nerve of him... Woke William up from his nap -- he's been working so hard lately, the graveyard shift really takes it out of him. Two whole years he's been working for that museum and they still treat him like some replaceable rent-a-cop or some shit. He should be head of security by now, I tell you what..." It took some work, lots of redirecting and steering Grell back towards the relevant topic, but eventually Sebastian was able to piece together almost the whole story. As he did, the weight in his stomach grew, like someone had dumped a metric ton of gravel in his gut; cold, heavy, grating.

Ciel had been in a car crash. Whether he spun out on a patch of black ice, or somebody else had was unclear; all Sebastian knew was that the cute little server ended up getting T-boned by a Chevy Tahoe and taken to the emergency room late last night. He knew that Ciel was alive and breathing on his own, though he wasn't sure if he was fully conscious. Sebastian also knew that he couldn't just hop in his car and drive to the hospital to see him like he suddenly found himself wanting to do. How weird would that be? He'd probably freak Ciel out if he showed up right now.

So he finished his drink, smoked another cigarette with Grell, pretending to engage in friendly banter and gossip until he could no longer play along. He didn't quite care what the manager did now that he had gotten what he wanted from her, and he had become so clearly preoccupied with what he heard that the redhead took the opportunity to slither out of the bar with a waggle of her fingers and a comical, exaggerated "Toodle-oo!"

The rest of the night was a literal blur, a dissociated haze. Sebastian found himself daydreaming, passing the hours behind the bar fantasizing about what it would be like to curl up beside the young man's banged-up body in the hospital bed, hard plastic railings along the sides of the mattress confining them together in a warm embrace. He glossed over the tangle of IV tubes and wires he would inevitably get caught up in; ignored the bag of piss that was likely attached to the edge of the bed frame and connected to Ciel by the long thin tube shoved up his urethra. He didn't think about Ciel's dad, his boss, sitting in a corner, one leg crossed over the other, reading a magazine as his son's monitors beeped steadily.

He thought about holding Ciel's small hand, thumb stroking back and forth along the boy's parched skin, sucked dry by the warm recycled hospital air being blasted through the vents. He thought about running his fingers through that cute little bobbed mop of hair, dyed blue like the deepest, darkest parts of the ocean. He thought about draping an arm over Ciel's waist, curling up beside him, face tucked in the crook of his neck, listening to the breath draw in and out of his lungs. He didn't think about fucking him; he just wanted to hold him.

The cold, bitter breeze outside rattled Sebastian's bones when he stepped outside at the end of the night and realized he had forgotten his coat. The last few hours of his shift had been completely lost to him in his distracted state. Sebastian supposed he did what he always did: made drinks, chatted with the regulars, counted the drawer, cleaned up and closed with Mey-Rin and Finny, who had replaced Bard not long after Grell's departure. He just couldn't stop thinking, couldn't stop worrying about Ciel.

Again, he had to scold himself for being so silly. There was nothing he could do for the young man. He was already taken care of, safely nestled in the possession of those who actually knew how to help him. Sebastian clicked his tongue against his teeth, shook his head at his own foolishness as he headed back inside and discovered that he had completely forgotten to lock the front door of the bar. Retrieving his coat from the back, Sebastian realized the acrid tobacco smoke smell was coming from him, his own fingertips and his hair; it was not the meager essence of Ciel clinging to the fabric of his jacket, lingering around to keep him company as he pulled the collar up to his chin to deter the cold from sneaking down the front of his shirt.

Driving home on autopilot, Sebastian tried to piece together what he knew about Ciel. It wasn't much. Aside from physical characteristics and some idiosyncratic mannerisms, he knew next to nothing about his boss's son. Quiet, thin, and short, Sebastian couldn't even hazard a guess at how old Ciel really was -- he barely looked legal, but he had to be if he worked at the bar. Sebastian knew he was a part-time student at the local university, but he couldn't say what he was studying. His father's name was Vincent Phantomhive, but Sebastian didn't know if there was a mother or any siblings in the picture.

Small talk and conversation were not the young man's strong suits, but it did not dissuade Sebastian in the slightest. He found himself infinitely infatuated with the kid. It twisted his stomach up into knots to think about him lying in a hospital bed somewhere, not knowing whether or not he was okay, not knowing if or when he would get to see him again. For all he knew, the opportunity to talk to Ciel, to get to know him, to be more than a coworker to him, could have slipped right through his fingers, and Sebastian would never be able to forgive himself.


	3. Chapter 3

That night, Sebastian dreamed about fucking Ciel.

He didn't consciously intend to, that wasn't what he was thinking about as he drifted off to sleep, but he found himself trapped, forced to watch and enjoy the dream as it unfolded before him in his unconscious theatre.

They weren't at his house, or any other place he recognized. It was a big, open loft with high ceilings and floor-length windows on one wall that Sebastian couldn't see out of. All white carpets and furniture with dark rosewood accents. A mattress, twice the size of Sebastian's California king at home, situated right under the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathed in soft light. He and Ciel rolled endlessly across the surface of the bed, Sebastian pinning Ciel's small frame, then Ciel mounted atop him, straddling him, and then back again; rubbing, touching, feeling, tasting, biting, kissing.

Suddenly he had Ciel in his lap, naked, arms pinned behind his back, facing away from him, looking out the window. Ciel was moaning, crying as Sebastian pulled him down onto his cock. He trembled with every inch, whining and squirming, but when he looked back over his shoulder at him with an incredibly sultry look, Sebastian could tell, he could feel how much Ciel liked it.

Ciel took him in beautifully; it felt so right, so real. He had him every which way, spreading his legs wider than he assumed physically possible for the small boy. Most of the torrid encounter was lost in his journey back to consciousness in the morning, but when he awoke, Sebastian could vividly remember the way he fucked him from behind -- primitive, desperate, rough with hands on hips to pull him closer and deeper and deliver a satisfying smack to Ciel's perfectly shaped ass when he felt it was warranted. Which was often. He pictured the red tinge on his fair skin and how it looked painted in thin stripes of white.

Sebastian woke up incredibly hard, body tingling all over with an insatiable arousal. He didn't feel like this often, and he had to do something about it. He reached back, digging through his mind to find fragments of the dream he could rewind and savor: the perceived weight of Ciel on top of him, the imagined softness of his skin and his lips, the way he thought his voice would sound as he fucked him senseless into the giant mattress. Sebastian licked his palm, spat into it, pretended it wasn't just his own hand he was fucking as he jerked himself off to the images in his head. He didn't care how he sweat and even drooled a little onto his pillow, didn't care when he came on himself and his blankets with a rough gravely moan and a curse. The inconvenience of doing laundry was nothing compared to the pleasurable height Sebastian had just achieved, the long-withheld orgasm making him shiver long after he'd finished, all thanks to the filthy and utterly inappropriate thoughts about his coworker he had conjured up. With a clean hand, he checked the time on his phone and begrudgingly rolled out of bed, peeling off the remainder of his clothes as he headed into the bathroom for a shower.

When Sebastian was first waking up, warm and languid and aroused, a hand creeping south towards the waistband of his sweats, Ciel had been awake for an hour, staring at the ceiling of his old room in his parent's house and feigning sleep when his mother knocked and brought him breakfast in bed. French toast -- his favorite. Except he couldn't muster up enough of an appetite to eat more than two bites. He forced down the glass of milk and before heading downstairs he slipped into his bathroom and flushed the remainder of the syrupy meal down the toilet. He kicked the clothes on the floor out of the way with a frown as he left his room. They were the ones he had been wearing the night of his accident, stained with spatters of blood and crusty with dried vomit -- he must have thrown up on himself on the way to the hospital.

The accident hadn't been serious. Stalled at a red light, Ciel had been unable to maneuver out of the way as someone turning through the intersection hit a patch of ice and spun out, ramming into his car as it slid across the road. The late-model Ford Thunderbird he had been driving was like a tank around him. The heavy body of the car did surprisingly well absorbing the force of the SUV as it careened into him, sending his head crashing first against the steering wheel and then into the side window as a handful of shattered glass rained down around him.

He probably could have been taken to the urgent care clinic and been just fine. But his aunt, once she got a call from Rachel, had insisted he be brought to the hospital where she worked to be checked out. Trauma medicine was not her area of expertise, but Doctor Angelina Dalles slithered away from her floor of cardiac arrests and transplants to check in on her favorite little nephew Ciel in the ER.

She examined him from head to toe and pointed out a nasty concussion, a sprained elbow, several damaged ribs, and a myocardial contusion. As his aunt closed up his cuts with sticky liquid sutures, Ciel was hooked up to an EKG to monitor his heart. The results must have been normal, because a few hours later his aunt said he was free to go, so long as he stayed with his parents the first two nights. It was fine to sleep with a concussion, Ciel just needed someone to wake him up every few hours and check his cognition, making sure he hadn't started bleeding into his brain or anything else serious.

It was markedly better than a hospital, but Ciel hated staying with his parents. It was the house he grew up in, but ever since he moved out, it felt completely foreign to him, as if he were merely a visitor. It was too big, too clean and too poised, like Rachel and Vincent were waiting for a Home & Garden photographer to come through and take pictures. Plus, they wouldn't let Ciel smoke there. If he wanted a cigarette, he had to sneak it, like he did in high school. He hadn't had a cigarette since before his accident, and he was craving the taste of nicotine like no other. He had to get out.

"Hey dad," Ciel rinsed off his plate in the sink and slid it into the dishwasher before taking a seat beside his father at the breakfast nook, "can you give me a ride home today?" It would be at least a week before Ciel was driving again, his car currently hospitalized at the auto repair shop his father frequented.

Vincent nodded, swallowing down the rest of his coffee. "Let me call An, make sure you're okay to be on your own."

Ciel flipped absentmindedly through the newspaper on the table as his father made the unecessary call. He returned a few minutes later, his face impassive, as usual. Aunt An had given the all-clear, not surprised at all that her nephew was already wanting to be free. He delivered her warnings to take it easy: no intense physical activity, no smoking, make sure to take deep breaths and cough every now and again to prevent a chest infection.

"Do you want to go now?" Vincent asked as he cleaned up his place at the table. Ciel nodded. "Okay. Get your stuff, say goodbye to your mother."

Rachel was reluctant to let Ciel go back so soon. She kissed his forehead and his cheek, hugging him four different times, careful not to disrupt his injured ribs or arm. "You call me if you need anything, okay? Anything. I can be there in seven minutes."

"Okay, mom," Ciel said, "I will." He probably wouldn't. He climbed into the passenger seat of his dad's Mercedes, his dirty clothes bundled in a plastic bag at his feet, and buckled in, rubbing his chest where the seatbelt had dug into his skin when his car was hit.

His father drove him across town, a ride that took much more than seven minutes to complete. The two remained silent the whole time, but as they neared Ciel's little apartment complex, Vincent cleared his throat and spoke.

"Will you be needing a ride to work today or tomorrow?"

"Um...." In all honesty, Ciel had completely forgotten about his serving job at The Windup. He struggled to pull his phone out of the front pocket of his jeans so he could check the most recent schedule -- he was supposed to help close tonight. Upon closer inspection, Ciel noticed that Sebastian and Finny had the night off. He was pondering whether or not to call one of them and ask if they would mind taking his shift that night when his dad spoke again.

"I'd really rather not call Grell to cover for you again... That man is a little too much for me, personally."

"Dad, you gotta get better at this. You know Grell uses female pronouns," Ciel said. Regardless, he could understand what his father was saying -- Grell was a little too high-energy for his liking as well. "Whatever, I'll figure something out," he continued. "I can always take a bus there, but I'll let you know if I need a ride home, okay?"

"Okay," Vincent said, pulling into a spot near Ciel's unit. "Just call me before ten and let me know. And just like your mom said, I'm only a few minutes away if you need anything. Don't hesitate to call me, okay, Ciel?"

"Okay, dad. Thanks."

"See you later."

Ciel awkwardly climbed out of his dad's car and waved goodbye, elated to be back at home. The thought of staying another night in the hospital, or at his parents' house, was nerve-wracking, and he could not have been more relieved to hear that he would be fine to stay by himself. He much preferred his tiny one-bedroom apartment, with its scuffed linoleum floor in the kitchen, the squeaky faucets, the doors that stuck in the jam during the summer when the humidity made the wood expand. It was cozy, lived-in. He had already started missing his little porch, the best part of the dingy apartment. Wood old and mottled with lichens, it was his favorite spot to have a cigarette and watch the people and the cars drive by on the street below.

He unlocked the door and made his way into the living room, dropping his clothes on the floor as he collapsed on the couch. A sharp pain struck him in the chest and he winced and cursed as he flopped heavily into the cushions. Sighing, he dug his phone out and scrolled through his contacts, looking for Finny's number so he could call him about covering his shift. His coworker didn't answer, and Ciel decided not to leave a voicemail. He sent a text instead, and as he waited for a reply, he made the decision to ignore his aunt and stepped outside for his first cigarette in what felt like a week. With a blanket tucked up under his chin, Ciel settled himself on the singular folding chair in the corner, blowing on his fingers to keep them warm.

As he made his way down to the speckled filter, blowing gray smoke into the equally gray sky, his phone vibrated in his lap. Unfortunately for Ciel, though wonderful for Finny, the strawberry blond man had a date that night -- he couldn't cover for Ciel. With a smile, Ciel typed out a reply, telling Finny it was all okay and wishing him good luck on his date. As an afterthought, he asked him if he had Sebastian's number -- it was his only other option.

Ciel remembered last week when the older bartender had let him borrow his coat to go outside and smoke. It was a nice gesture, but that was the only thing Sebastian had ever done for him aside from hold a door or carry some dishes for him. He wasn't rude by any means, but he certainly wasn't the most effusive or amiable employee. He was always somehow distant, detached from the flow of the bar. Ciel wondered if he would be willing to help him out, especially on such short notice. He really didn't feel like working, but Ciel would power through if he had no choice.

Finny sent him Sebastian's information, and Ciel wound up lighting another cigarette as he dialed and held the phone up to his ear. He nervously sucked down smoke as the phone rang and rang and rang, and he was about to give up and resign himself to working the miserable shift when there was a sudden click, and a low smooth voice was speaking through the receiver.

"Hello, this is Sebastian."

Something about the voice over the phone gave Ciel a chill, but he blamed it on the cold breeze as he exhaled his mouth of smoke and replied, "Hey, Sebastian." He swallowed, suddenly very nervous. "It's, uh -- it's Ciel."


	4. Chapter 4

"Ciel?"

"Yeah," he affirmed. "Hi." To Ciel, Sebastian sounded genuinely surprised to hear from him. He would have never guessed that Sebastian was feigning ignorance, that he already had Ciel's number saved with the rest of his the Windup staff, and he knew the instant his phone rang who was calling him.

"Hey," Sebastian said, smiling. He swallowed the warm lump in his throat that formed unexpectedly upon hearing Ciel's voice. "Didn't expect to hear from you. You feeling okay? Grell said you weren't doing too hot the other day."

"Oh, yeah," Ciel coughed, wincing and wondering what his dad had told Grell and what Grell had told Sebastian. "I'm fine. Thanks." There was an awkward pause as Ciel took a shallow drag off his cigarette and Sebastian waited for him to continue. "I just... Um -- is this a bad time?"

"Not at all. I was just doing some laundry. What's up?"

Ciel absent-mindedly squished the cigarette filter between his fingers as he spoke, hemming and hawing as he asked Sebastian if he would be willing to cover his closing shift later.

"Damn. I mean, I would," Sebastian replied, "but I'm already supposed to work tonight. Sorry."

Ciel frowned. "You're not on the schedule."

"Oh, no, not at the Windup. I work over at Sphere a few nights a week. I'm tending the bar there tonight there from five to midnight."

The Sphere was one of the most exclusive restaurants in town. Extremely fancy. Low lighting and abstract art on the walls, pricey drinks, tiny portion sizes arranged like art on oversized plates, ties on all the waiters and designer high-heeled shoes on all the hostesses. Ciel had only been there once for his mother's birthday dinner last year and he felt grossly underdressed even in his nicest pair of khakis. He hid his plain black Vans under the table and hoped no one would notice. Sebastian would probably fit right in; he had impeccable style with distinct, noble features, and carried himself with an air of refinement that was out of place in the sports bar where he worked with Ciel.

"Huh. I didn't know you worked there," Ciel said.

"Yeah, it's kinda new, I guess," Sebastian replied. "I've only been there about a month or so. I used to work over at Golden Hand, but--"

"The brewery?" Ciel asked, suddenly interested. Now that was a place he knew well. The Golden Hand was only a couple of blocks down the street from his apartment complex and he had become quite familiar with their restaurant menu and daily drink specials. At least several times a week Ciel would drop in for a beer or a sandwich, but he had no memory of Sebastian's face or his presence in that building. Ciel asked why he wasn't still working there, and Sebastian explained vaguely that it had just been time to move on.

"I see," Ciel said slowly, blowing out a lungful of smoky air.

Sebastian shook his head and gave his laundry basket at his feet a little kick, wishing he hadn't talked so much. Ciel probably didn't care. "Anyway, have you tried asking Finny yet? To cover for you?" He asked, trying to change the subject and keep Ciel on the line for just a little bit longer.

Ciel fibbed instinctively, without knowing why, and said he hadn't been able to get a hold of him. "He didn't pick up, so I figured I'd call you. But I'll probably try him again after this if you can't do it."

"Yeah, no go tonight. Sorry about that." Sebastian could hear a hiss of air between Ciel's teeth as he inhaled a puff of cigarette smoke. "What about the new guy?" he suggested. "Joanne."

"Maybe. I don't think I have his number though."

"I'm pretty sure I do. I can send it to you, if you want."

"Yeah, that'd be great, thank you."

"Sure thing."

There was a mildly uncomfortable pause, and Ciel remebered why he hated talking on the phone. "Well, um, I'm gonna try Finny again. Thanks anyway."

"No problem," Sebastian said. "Sorry I couldn't help out." Before they could start their awkward goodbyes, he blurted, "But hey, if you find somebody to cover for you tonight, you should come visit me at the Sphere -- I'll fix you a drink, on me. If you feel up to it, of course."

Ciel chuckled a little, a breathy exhale through his nose that made Sebastian smile. "Okay," he said. "I'll let you know. Talk to you later."

"Bye, Ciel."

When he hung up, Ciel still had more than half of a cigarette left to smoke, and he stared at the rolled tobacco in his hand with disdain. Even though he had ignored it while on the phone, the pain in his chest had been steadily increasing as he puffed away, and he decided to flick the remainder of the Turkish Royal into the parking lot beneath him and head inside. Each breath burned in his chest; his ribs cried with each movement of his upper body. Ciel had never known such a consistent, aching pain, and he would do anything to make it stop.

Unfortunately, all he could do was swallow down a mouthful of Tylenol and a big glass of water, hold a pillow to his chest as he took deep breaths and coughed, and hope that he could succumb to the pull of sleep and find relief in an unconscious stupor. As he carefully crawled into bed, his phone buzzed with a message from Sebastian -- a single attachment with a contact file for the newest Windup employee.

Some angel must have been watching out for Ciel, possibly Joanne himself, with his lithe form and heavenly soft blond hair, because when he texted him, the young man replied right away and was all too happy to take Ciel's closing shift that night. "I need the hours," he wrote, "so it's no problem at all!" Bard would be there to help him close, so Ciel had no reservations about passing the shift off and then passing out for the remainder of the day.

As Ciel slipped into a restless sleep, his mind slowing and trying to ignore the pain his body felt, Sebastian's head was busy trying not to bubble over with thoughts of his coworker. He truly had not expected Ciel to call him, let alone ask him to cover his shift, but he was elated to hear his voice nonetheless; it meant Ciel was conscious, which was undoubtedly good. It was hard to tell where he was calling from, whether a hospital or someplace else, but if he was up making calls, worrying about his shift, Sebastian figured -- and truly hoped -- that it had not been too serious. Even so, there was a strain in Ciel's voice that Sebastian couldn't ignore, something more than the servings of smoke he held in his lungs as he spoke, and Sebastian had to wonder if Ciel had been in pain. Poor guy... He thought.

Once again, he had to remind himself that there was nothing he could do. Though it would test his patience, he just had to sit back and wait for Ciel to cross his path again; it was only a matter of time.


End file.
